


Condition Grounded

by gottalovev



Series: Condition Grounded [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: BAMF Stiles, Captivity, First Kiss, Kidnapping, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 08:32:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/659933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gottalovev/pseuds/gottalovev
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles pulls as hard as he can on the chain that has kept him shackled in this sad excuse for a prison, but it just won't budge from its fixing on the wall. Sadly, it's the same lack of success as the zillion other times he’s tried in the last forty-five days. </p><p>"Come on!"  </p><p>He tugs again, just to be sure, but no dice. If it weren't so depressing, Stiles would laugh. That's what insanity is, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Condition Grounded

**Author's Note:**

> Note: warning for slight gore, as suggested by the art, but typical for the show. No other warnings apply.
> 
> This is a story made for [twreversebang](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com) where I had the privilege to work from the compelling art made by [dogpancake](http://archiveofourown.org/users/dogpancake). 
> 
> The art will be embedded directly in the fic. If you want to see it before reading, you can go [at the match-up post](http://twreversebang.livejournal.com/5033.html), specifically (3008)[here](http://i.imgur.com/jTfXI.png) (warning for slight gore). If there is ever a Master Art post, I will link to it. 
> 
> Also, a million thanks to my betas, [hoktauri](http://hoktauri.livejournal.com) and [ldyanne](http://ldyanne.livejournal.com) who both did a great job on short notice ♥

Stiles pulls as hard as he can on the chain that has kept him shackled in this sad excuse for a prison, but it just won't budge from its fixing on the wall. Sadly, it's the same lack of success as the zillion other times he’s tried in the last forty-five days. 

"Come on!" 

He tugs again, just to be sure, but no dice. If it weren't so depressing, Stiles would laugh. That's what insanity is, right? Doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results? 

"Thank you, Albert Einstein, for naming my condition!"

That's another thing: with being alone all day - apart from a ten minute food delivery visit - Stiles has started talking out loud a lot. It's that or hearing only the waves all day. The damn ocean is so close but at the same time just out of reach, taunting Stiles into thinking that freedom is right _there_ , if he could only reach it. 

Stiles tried to cry for help, at first, screamed his throat raw pleading for anyone to hear him, _please_ , but the waves surely swallowed it all. Stiles hasn't bothered to try at all since the third day.

"Why take me?" Stiles asks no one in particular – his kidnapper, God, Fate, himself – but yeah, it's rhetorical at this point. He never could figure it out and frankly he doesn't remember the whole snatching incident properly. 

They were playing hide and seek – okay, fine, _training_ \- when suddenly Derek roared the order to run, using his Alpha voice, which he only did when it was serious. Stiles was fleeing as fast as he could when something had momentarily blocked out the sun. Before Stiles could turn and face whatever the hell it was, he was hit behind the head, hard, sending him to the ground. 

There were roars – definitely Scott, maybe Derek – but after that everything was hazy. A pretty bad concussion, he's almost one hundred percent sure. Stiles felt nauseous, and he thinks he remembers the roar and the bitter cold of the wind as he had drifted in and out of consciousness. Whatever creature attacked them, it made a grab and run on his person, or so it seems. If that's true, Stiles clings with all that he's got to the belief that everyone else is fine. They have to be.

Stiles woke up in this very bare room carved directly in the rock where he'd been shackled since. At the time, Stiles had nasty claw marks on his thigh that had healed overnight, which may have made him panic just a little bit. The full moon came and went since, though, and Stiles didn't sprout fur, claws, fangs or experience any overwhelming urge to kill, so whatever it was that scratched him wasn't a werewolf (or he's immune like Lydia, which would be cool).

In his new abode, Stiles' only possessions are the clothes on his back, a fifteen-foot long iron chain attached to his ankle and bolted in the wall, and a nest of blankets in the corner that are barely enough to fight the chill at night. A photo-sensor triggers a set of soft lights at night, embedded near the ceiling, so at least he's never in pitch-black darkness. There's a spring for water and the basic necessities, so all in all Stiles is relatively clean. And, surprisingly, extremely well-fed.

Speaking of food, noon is approaching and he should get his daily delivery soon. The sun can only enter through the curved tunnel that leads to the ocean - the cave's only exit - and Stiles learned to read the time of day by judging the play of the light on the back wall, sadly a good twenty-five feet further than he can reach with his chain.

Stiles has learned to notice the muffled sounds that precedes his kidnapper's arrival: the shadow on the back wall goes from huge to slender, then the man walks in. The nudity isn't a shock anymore, it barely registers, but the first time? Stiles had thought that the combination of a cave, chains and a naked guy were not promising. Stranger-Danger – Stiles sometimes calls him SD for short - never tried to touch him, though, which is a comfort in the middle of the whole shitty experience 

"Is this the day you let me go?" Stiles asks, as he does every day. Well, that's not true; he used to shout a lot more, demanding answers, but it never got him any results.

"You have yet to mature and learn," Stranger-Danger says. 

It had taken eighteen excruciatingly long days to even get that much out of him. Seriously, Derek is goddam chatty in comparison with this guy. Even Boyd would look like a motor-mouth. Unfortunately, the things Stranger-Danger says don't make any sense.

SD puts the two shopping bags down on the ground, and Stiles' traitorous stomach growls as he smells chicken, burgers, fries, cartons of milk, cheese, and at least two kinds of cake. Stiles' sense of smell is pretty damn good these days, something else that has made him worry about turning furry on the full moon. He's also always hungry, and Stiles has to refrain from throwing himself at the food to stuff his face. He'd like to keep the rest of the dignity he's got left, thank you very much.

"You never told me who does the shopping," Stiles chatters, stalling, because he's alone all day, every day, and he's about to go out of his mind with boredom. "Do you go to the drive-thru naked? Do you have douche minions who run errands for you? Can I meet them?" 

The minion theory is probable, since there's a faint smell of Axe deodorant on the bags most days, and Stranger-Danger's surely not using that. He smells of sand, spice and something wild, and if SD's body isn't bad and barely looks a day over forty, all of the hair on his body is completely white, while his eyes are as black and old as time itself. Honestly, he gives Stiles the heebie-jeebies, kidnapping habits aside. 

"And what do you mean, mature and learn?" Stiles asks again, inching towards the bags because his stomach will start eating itself soon; he needs that food. 

"To Know, to Dare, to Will…"

"To Keep Silent, yeah yeah yeah," Stiles says, unable to stop himself from antagonizing Stranger-Danger: it's his _only_ source of entertainment. He's heard _that_ litany out of SD often enough that it's not a surprise. 

He remembers reading those words on crappy websites for Wiccans or wannabe magicians, too. Scott used to tease him about how if those four things were what was needed to practice magic, Stiles was shit out of luck or he'd better hope that three out of four was enough.

Stranger-Danger clenches his jaw and frowns. It's not as sexy as when Derek does it. Man, Derek's annoyed frown would kick this guys' frown eight ways to Sunday. Okay, so now is not the time to think about Derek, that's for private alone time (Stiles’ fantasy life has become pretty intricate in forty-five days of captivity).

"You will learn everything soon," Stranger-Danger says when he's glared enough. And that, it seems, is the extent of the conversations they'll have today. Stranger-Danger starts walking towards the exit, probably thinking he's been a fountain of information.

Endlessly frustrated, Stiles throws his hands in the air. 

"And how the hell can I learn? How can I _know_ ," Stiles says, stressing the word. "If no one teaches me? You've got to give me something, man!" 

The way SD turns back towards him and then tilts his head is oddly reminiscent of a bird. After a pause, he relents and speaks again.

"What is needed is an intelligence illuminated by study, an intrepidity which nothing can check, a will which cannot be broken, and a prudence which nothing can corrupt and nothing intoxicate." 

Stiles gapes. It's at least five times more words than Stranger-Danger has ever spoken in one visit; it's _actual information_. 

"Run that by me again, please?" Stiles asks, because he's got to commit it to memory, to try to find it's meaning later. He misses Bowman the laptop and the Internet so fucking much. 

Wonder of wonders – SD must be having a good day – he repeats the earlier statement. Once done, Stranger-Danger leaves and it's a testament of how surprising the whole exchange was that it takes a good two minutes before Stiles gets it out of his head and pounces on the food.

***

The nights are the worst, cold and damp. Stiles wraps himself in his blankets like a burrito and he hurts, like he has for weeks now. His back is killing him and Stiles would love to pretend it's because he's lying on solid rock (he knows better).

The pain is in his bones, and it's so close to the growing pains he experienced when he shot up five inches during the summer after sixth grade. It feels as if his body isn't his anymore, and when Stiles stretches he can skim his fingers on bumps on his back that shouldn’t be there. It's terrifying.

And he's hungry, all the time. So hungry he wants to cry. 

*** 

The next day, Stiles is ready when Stranger Danger arrives. Since he talked once, Stiles is determined to make him talk again (hopefully today). The food distracts Stiles again, just for a second – because there is bread and pie and tacos and oh God is that Thai food he smells? – but he manages to snap back to focus as he locks gazes with SD. 

"Okay, look, we've had a rough start, you and I, but I think that if you grabbed me, it's for a reason," Stiles starts. He's thought about this speech all morning.

If Stranger-Danger completely ignores Stiles' babbling some days, he seems ready to listen right now. He picks up the bag with the trash of the previous day that Stiles put at the end of his chain, but doesn't leave, just watching Stiles patiently. 

"Maybe it's because I'm the weak link of my pack, but I think it's more than that," Stiles continues, and now SD looks curious. Progress. "You keep saying 'To Know, to Dare, to Will, to Keep Silent' and I know it has to do with magic. Deaton already told me I'm a spark, and, once, I did something awesome with mountain ash. So there's that. Yesterday, you added intelligence, intrepidity, ironclad will and prudence as corollaries, and let's face it, that's me. Well, I could work on prudence, I guess. Also, yesterday - and man, you were on a roll; I was shocked - you said I need to mature and learn and I think it all wraps up together nicely. But to mature and learn, oh you of little words, I need information. I need you to tell me what is going on, or, if that's too much to ask from you, I need books. I want to study; I'm going insane with nothing to do."

Stiles hasn't spoken this much in one go in forever. Maybe he never had such a stretch uninterrupted in his entire life, even, because the people around him have a tendency to cut him off when he gets going. 

"Commendable, but there will be no need for books," SD says.

"Because you'll tell me why I'm here?" Stiles asks. He's disappointed: he needs something to do while he's alone all day and books, any books, would have been awesome. 

Stranger-Danger tilts his head in his infuriating way. "When the vessel is ready to transfer my knowledge," he says, and Stiles feels a tingling sensation on his skin that makes him shiver. "Soon." 

And then, as Stiles is trying to make sense of that and everything it can imply, SD actually _smiles_ , the look predatory. He looks as if he's been waiting for said transfer to happen for eons and not just a couple of months. It is by far the creepiest thing Stiles has ever seen, and he knows Peter Hale. "Very soon," SD adds, and Stiles doesn't miss how he glances towards the food. 

For a second, Stiles almost loses all appetite.

"You know, I really sympathize with Hansel and Gretel at the moment." And Stiles always thought he was more like Little Red Riding Hood. 

"You talk too much."

And fuck, that little barb unexpectedly punches Stiles right in the gut. He misses his friends so much and wonders if he'll ever get out of this. He doesn't want to show Stranger-Danger that he inadvertently hit Stiles where he's soft, so Stiles lays it on think. "Nonsense. But frankly, if you're trying to fatten me up, it's not working. In fact, I think I lost weight even with eating everything."

SD is done with him for the day, though, because he's ambling towards the exit.

"Can you at least tell me when the transfer will happen? Days? Weeks? Maybe a ball park figure?" Stiles pleads.

"Any day. You will know when," SD says, then he's gone. Stiles curses.

Yeah, right, he'll know. Earlier, he was sure that Stranger-Danger magically checked his degree of readiness when that tingling sensation happened. Stiles felt it everywhere, and it had the tell-tale shiver of power that Stiles is getting better and better at detecting (and sometimes generating).

Even though SD basically confirmed that something radical is happening to his body – Stiles knows the pain in his bones isn't normal – and that eating helps whatever is going on, he can't resist the food. It smells heavenly and it's getting harder and harder each day to wait until his daily delivery. While he's taking the different containers out of the bags, there's a screech at the mouth of the cavern. Stiles looks up and smiles at the seagull.

"Hey, Jonathan!" 

The bird walks a foot or so closer and screeches again. Stiles smiles and throws him a tiny piece of bread that it gobbles down. 

"There you go. Are _you_ going to come closer today, my feathery friend?"

The seagull appeared one day, cautious, and Stiles had thrown it cold fries, making them best buds (as long as Stiles has food; Jonathan generally leaves when there is none left). It always stays by the entrance, though.

"I'm never gonna be able to train you if you don't come closer, Joe!" Stiles says, throwing another piece of bread, closer this time. The bird eyes him warily, obviously worried about what Stiles could do. "Oh, come on! I'm not _that_ desperate, I won't try to eat you!" 

The seagull doesn't budge. 

"So, feel like being my sounding board today, Jonathan?" Stiles asks, relenting and throwing a bit of bread further near the entrance, where he knows the bird will take it. He doesn't want Joe to leave yet.

"I don't like SD's implication that he'll transfer his knowledge when the vessel is ready. And by vessel, he obviously means my rocking body," Stiles says, gesturing at himself. "And, also, how is my vessel getting ready, exactly? What the hell is going on, that's what I'd like to know."

Those tacos, by the way? Delicious. Even cold. Stiles scarfs them down in record time and doesn't even give an iota of them to Jonathan, who squawks in frustration. 

"Okay, so we don't know what is happening to my body and why I need to eat so much. I swear it feels like I’m fourteen again and in a growth spurt, times ten." Stiles throws Jonathan a tiny piece of piecrust. "If SD's transferring information into me, it could be that he has a way to cram info into my mind. Maybe with a magic ritual, or whatever. But what I'm afraid of is that he doesn't just want to put info in, but control this body too, maybe even take my place."

Jonathan screeches greedily. Stiles lobs more crust towards the bird (he's never liked crust anyway).

"I don't want someone to hijack my meat suit. No, sir. And SD says it will happen soon... how am I supposed to resist what he wants to do to me? He's weird as fuck and I'd bet supernatural for sure. I have no fucking answer to anything." 

Stiles starts digging into the Thai food carton with his fingers. It's cold, like most of everything is always cold or just lukewarm, and Stiles is so sick of it. 

"What does a guy have to do to get hot food, huh?" Stiles asks Joe, who’s pacing and flapping its wings. "Cold noodles are better than cold fries, at least. You can't really re-heat fries unless you put them in oil. Or I guess in the oven. The microwave gives absolutely disastrous results with fries, my good friend." 

Stiles throws Jonathan a piece of broccoli, for variety and the good of his arteries. "Another tip with the microwave?" He tells the bird, showing him the carton of Pad See Ew, and for a moment Joe seems to think Stiles is going to give him the whole thing. As if. Stiles brings the food close to his chest and hisses, making the bird hop away. "Nope. I was saying that if you want to reheat one of these containers, it's a good idea to remove this little metal wire handle." Stiles says, making it move to and fro. "I forgot, once, and you should have seen the fireworks in the microwave; I thought it was going to explode." 

Scary shit, right there. But… that was way before his baseline for scary had been reset, i.e. pre-werewolves. Now it's almost a fond memory. There's something nagging at him, though, something that distracts Stiles from scarfing down the rest of the noodles. Stiles' eyes fall on the shackle at his ankle, and then back at the little wire handle on the Thai carton. Then moves back and forth between the two again. Holy fucking shit! Whoever prepared his lunch today didn't think about the wire and what Stiles could do with it. He's never been given something that could be used to try to escape before, or that he could use to hurt himself or Stranger-Danger. Stiles' hands shake as he unbends the ends of the handle and gets the wire out of the carton. 

"Have you ever seen anything more beautiful?" Stiles asks Jonathan, reverent. His mood lifts, and Stiles throws the bird more crust while stuffing some pie in his mouth. Cherry filling - it's a good day. 

***

It takes a long frustrating time but Stiles manages to pick the lock on his shackle, whooping for joy when it clicks open. Stiles jumps up and does a little dance, ecstatic. The sun is setting outside and with a rush Stiles realizes he can go and _see_ it, not being limited by his chain. He's nonetheless cautious when he gets near the exit tunnel, wondering if someone or something is watching it. A quick look around the bend reveals only an opening ten feet or so further, so he approaches it slowly. The sky, streaked with orange and pink, is the only thing he can see until Stiles reaches the entrance of the cave and the little outcrop of rock beyond it. 

His heart is racing as he looks out, freedom seeming so attainable, and then Stiles’ stomach plummets when he gets a good look at his surroundings. The entrance of the cave gives on the side of a cliff and the drop down is at least six hundred feet towards sharp-edged rocks and rough surf. The cliff's face is almost smooth and there's a good on hundred and fifty feet to get to the top of it, or so Stiles guesses. There is no way he's going to be able to climb it without gear: he'd fall down and kill himself. Stiles sits down on the edge slowly, his earlier optimism gone. 

What now? Even if he tries to fight SD, what advantage will it even give him? He's only got a little metal wire and the element of surprise. Even if he could overpower Stranger-Danger, he'd have an injured kidnapper and no new means to get out of there. And how does SD even get to the door, carrying the food? Stiles had long thought he must be a shape-shifter of some sort, but what? A lizard, like the kanima, coming down the face of the cliff with suction cups on its hands? Or does he have wings, like a bird? Upon thinking of it, Stiles shivers, knowing that's it. The way the sun was blocked in the Preserve, the muffled sound when SD arrives, a shadow that shrinks, it must be wings folding in; also the way he tilts his head, like Jonathan. 

Stiles looks at the sun dipping in the ocean, gorgeous and bright, and he wonders how long he's got left as himself. He doesn't want to get possessed or whatever SD wants to do with him. Will he still have a say on his actions, after? Will he become a winged monster and kill people? Maybe he should jump in the ocean, get it over with right now so he's never a menace. He's never been one to quit, though, and Stiles figures that as long as his head is his own, there's hope. 

Once it's dark, Stiles goes back inside and looks critically at the room he's been held in for a month and a half. It's bare and pathetic and Stiles wants to get away so much. There's no food left and he's still hungry, which makes him think of those new bumps on his back. Is his body transforming to support wings? When Stranger-Danger walks in, he looks perfectly normal (except in attitude), so Stiles has never seen anything to suggest that he is other than human. It means the shift is complete, in and out of his other form, and that he can trigger it at will like the wolves. 

Stiles has to try to escape right now, while he's free and no transfer has finished, and for that he needs to shift, too. Stranger-Danger said he was almost ready, and it will have to be enough. Now that he lets himself think about it, there is a potential, an energy or a possibility he feels inside, ready to expand. He just needs to focus on it and see where he can take it.

"Okay, okay, I can do this." He sounds confident, at least.

Stiles sits down, crossing his legs, then takes his shirt off and sets it aside. Stiles might be sick of the stupid thing - and of washing it in the spring every couple of days - but if he's right and about to get wings, they'll be huge in order to support his body weight and he'd only end up ripping the shirt when he shifts. 

Oh, God, shifting. He always thought he'd stay human, and that he'd be the one with the little bit of magic and ability to handle mountain ash and wolfsbane; that he was going to rely on his brain more than brawn, because he's Stiles and he's awesome just like that. Oh, it's not that he never thought about asking Derek for the bite, one time or twelve, but it was usually when he was hurt and envious of the werewolves' rapid healing. It sucks that the choice to stay human was taken away from him, and just for that he plans to make SD pay.

He tries to focus on that anger, at first, since that's what triggers the wolves, but it doesn't work. There's no one to beat him up and make him want to defend himself either, just the sound of the ocean that makes this place even more of a prison. He tries to visualize what he'd look like with wings, but the stirring in his back is weak at best. It hurts, a little bit, but it's not going anywhere. Fuck, it's not working; his body must not be ready. But can he really wait for it to be? Maybe the ability to shift will only come with SD's fucking knowledge, which means he's screwed. He'll have to risk climbing the cliff with his normal body, and most probably fall to his death. 

No one will ever know what really happened to him. Thinking of how frantic his dad must be since his sudden disappearance and how he'll never have closure brings tears to Stiles' eyes. It's so, so unfair that his dad has to lose everyone he loves, and Stiles wants to scream. He hid the supernatural from his dad for the last year or so, but it's always been to protect him, so he doesn't get hurt. And now, losing his son like this - it's going to kill him, Stiles is sure of it. The heartache Stiles feels, combined with his helplessness and the desire to avoid that pain to his dad at all cost, coalesces in Stiles' gut and a sudden pain blooms in his back. He gags at the intensity of it, feels something move under his skin and pants, wondering if that's it. He's holding his breath, grinding his teeth together, but the pains lessens and whatever moved seems to settle back.

"No, no, no, come on!" Stiles almost sobs in frustration. He was so close.

Shutting his eyes, Stiles focuses on the agonizing pain of losing his mother, the most intense heartbreak he's ever felt, but it does nothing. He hits the floor with his fist, hating this with his whole being. Next, Stiles conjures his best memories with his dad – cooking and laughing and an honest-to-God fishing trip once – and he wishes really hard to get back to him, to have that again; it causes twinges near his spine, but clearly it isn't what Stiles needs to help the fucking shift. What is left, then, from earlier? 

Stiles takes a deep breath and focuses on wanting to protect his dad from pain and it's like something snaps in the middle of his shoulder-blades, pushing out. Oh, dear, mother of God, it _hurts_. He can't let it stop, though, so Stiles hunches down on the floor, forearms on the ground and puts his face in his hands as he scrunches his eyes shut. 

Protect, yes, that's it. That's what he's meant to do, what he's always been about. Bones and muscles are moving in his back, rearranging as something _else_ grows, takes up more and more of the space beneath his skin. Stiles is panting between tightly closed teeth, and he thinks of protecting his dad. Of making sure Scott is okay. How will Scott even make it if Stiles isn't there to play the Yoda to his Luke? He's got to get out of here. He's got to power through the pain even as he feels his skin stretch and stretch over what is building inside. Oh, God, Stiles is going to explode, his body isn't ready for this. 

He screams again, glad that the ocean is covering up the evidence, but God, he wishes he weren't alone as he dies like this, torn apart by his own treacherous new nature and clawing at the ground. Stiles cries for his dad, for Scott… for Derek. Oh, God, Derek will never forgive himself since Stiles was taken right from under his nose. The guy has a guilt complex as large as Texas; he doesn't need a new name on the never-ending list of people he's lost. Stiles can, and will, protect him from that, he promises fiercely. That's about when the skin on Stiles’ back gives up and rips open, the sensation as agonizing as it is freeing. Stiles can breathe a little better now and the weird awareness of his bones stretching is painful but more manageable.

Stiles risks a look over his shoulder and gapes at what he sees. It's one thing to theorize you're going to sprout wings, but it's totally overwhelming to actually see them. They are unfolding, slowly, emerging from the mess that is his back – there is torn skin but surprisingly very little blood, that's good – covered with brown feathers. The transformation has to continue and Stiles wholly believes that these wings are the key, that they'll help him get out. They will allow him to go back to the ones he loves and make sure everyone is alright, and then he will keep them safe. Focusing hard on that helps numb the pain. Moreover Stiles is entranced as the wings unfold and stretch, first the right one, then the left, huge and really fucking beautiful, if he says so himself. 

When the sensations settle and the wings seem fully out, Stiles is so distracted by their span and how, if he focuses, he can make them flex, that he doesn’t realize something is happening to his arms and legs, too. There is a shift in his elbows and knees and his old friend pain comes back, though he hadn't missed it at all.

"Oh, God, what now?" Stiles whines as his arms and legs morph and golden fur appears on his limbs, his hands changing into powerful paws ending in very, very sharp claws. He wonders if his face is changing, even though he can't feel anything, but suddenly the realization of what he is now hits him with the force of a sledgehammer to the head. 

Body of a lion, head of a human, wings of an eagle: he's a goddamn sphinx. 

To Know, to Dare, to Will, to Keep Silent: the four powers of the sphinx. Stiles can't believe he missed that until now, jeez. SD has been telling him what he'll become from the start! Also, the sphinx is a guardian, which explains how his desire to protect and to keep safe triggered the change. 

Everything in his new form seems to have settled now – no pain anymore, yay! - and Stiles takes a couple of steps around the room; there's no unease, everything moving perfectly. He gets rid of the shreds of his pants that ripped as his lower body shifted, and yeah, he should have thought about that. SD never wore pants. Stiles walks towards the water and crouches, dipping his chin in the spring to drink a little. He has no opposable thumbs to use his usual water bottle right now, but that's fine. 

Okay, so this form is really cool, but Stiles isn’t sure he's going to be able to escape even like this. His new wings are awesome, but he needs to learn to fly before hurling himself off the cliff, which he doesn't have time to do. Lifting a paw to observe it, Stiles sheaths and then extend the claws thoughtfully. And what if?

His cavern has a very high ceiling where a colony of bats used to live, going in and out at night. They moved after a month, and Stiles wonders if it's because they smelled that he was becoming a predator. What is interesting about the room is that the inner walls are mostly even, a lot like the cliff outside: it's perfect for practice. Stiles goes to his beddings, gets up on his back paws and put his front ones on the wall, digging his claws into the little defects on the surface. For climbing, the wings are pretty much a hindrance, so Stiles decides to extend them as much as he can on either side of his body, hoping they'll at least help with balance. Slowly, Stiles brings a rear paw up, grips, and then moves the opposite front one higher, secures it and pulls, pushing on his leg. Same thing with the opposite side, carefully – lift, grip, stretch, secure, pull/push, and repeat – as he moves up. 

It's working, he's climbing the wall, though not as agile about it as Scott's ex-cat used to be on the McCall drapes. It's doable, though, that's what's important, and in his excitement to reach one of the lights near the top Stiles forgets to keep the claws out on one foot, loses his grip and falls. He doesn't think to flap his wings until he crashes on the hard ground. The beddings prove to be a poor cushion and Stiles cries out in pain as he twists a paw on impact, not quite falling gracefully on all fours as one might have expected. Fuck, now he's gone and made this more difficult for himself.

"Good job, Stiles!"

He shakes the offending appendage but it's tingling now, the hurt rapidly fading; standing on it is perfectly fine not two minutes later. 

"Huh!" Super fast healing, then; that's pretty awesome. It will come in handy, Stiles is sure.

Stiles doesn't have the luxury to wait before attempting his escape: it's got to be before noon the next day, and he'll have to be as far away as possible from the room when SD finds out. Admitting, of course, that Stiles makes it to the top of the cliff, which is not guaranteed. Stiles hopes SD has no way to find out he transformed early, but who knows.

Practicing climbs in the room won't do much more than tire him beforehand, so Stiles should go now. Resolute, he drinks some more water and goes back to the entrance of the cavern where he tries, to the best of his abilities – and newfound night vision – to map the best path up. He'll have to angle to the right a bit, where there seems to be more grip. Then, before he overthinks it, Stiles starts climbing, just as he did inside.

He focuses on the mechanics of it, one paw after the other, making extra-sure to keep his claws out at all times. Since he doesn't know how stable the change is, Stiles keeps a constant inner monologue on how he needs to do this to get back to his friends, how he'll be able to help now, participate more in protecting the territory and keep everyone safe. On the other hand, Stiles tries as much as possible to ignore that if he does a mistake, he's going to fall to his death. By sheer force of will he doesn't look down, not even once, eyes resolutely focused on his goal. Slow and steady wins the race, and Stiles continues to climb even when all of his new muscles burn. The wings are mostly a handicap, catching in the wind, but Stiles doesn't dare use them apart from balance.

It's almost a surprise when Stiles reaches the top and pulls himself free of the cliff. As soon as he's securely on solid ground, a good ten feet from the edge, Stiles falls into a heap, exhausted. He takes deep breaths, thanking profusely whatever God looks after stupid people who risk everything. As he cools down, his paws turn back into fingers, followed by the reversal of all of his body to human, complete with the wings folding in on themselves. Stiles keeps his mind blank as everything rearranges, thankfully hurting a whole lot less from sphinx to man than it had the other way around. 

Stiles can't help but wonder what physics-defying magic makes something as big as his wings suck up to nothing in his back. It's a bit like Iron Man's under-armor after Extremis, hiding in Tony Stark's bones. Or how Jackson's huge-ass kanima tail would vanish. What is for sure is that after a couple of minutes, Stiles looks human again, his back – as much as he can see – perfectly smooth and normal. Naked, sure, but there is nothing out of the ordinary Stiles can detect apart from that.

He'd love to take a nap, but Stiles clearly has to go now. It's almost the full moon, which makes the night clear and luminous, and after a quick look around, Stiles spots a lone little house, maybe a thousand feet away. It could have been worse, because traversing nature on bare feet and naked? Uncomfortable. He approaches the house carefully – what if SD crashes there? – but Stiles can't smell him. When he focuses, Stiles can only hear one heartbeat, human-fast and not sludgy-slow as SD's was. 

Stiles needs to find a way to ask for help without scaring whoever lives here; a stark-naked guy knocking on your door in the middle of the night? Yeah... not so good. There's a small SUV in the driveway, with an old surfboard attached to the top. The doors are unlocked and Stiles finds a big beach towel in the back that will have to do. 

After wrapping himself in it, Stiles knocks on the door. It takes two tries before the sound of the TV mutes and a young man walks over and opens up, perplexed. He smells like beer and pretzels.

"Yeah?"

"Hey, hi!" Stiles says with what he hopes is his most harmless and somewhat pitiful smile. "I need help, man. Could I use your phone, please?"

The guy takes in Stiles in his towel and looks out towards the road. "Whoa, are you okay, man? Did you get into an accident? I didn't hear anything!"

Stiles can work with that. "Yeah, a bit down the road. I need to call my - to call AAA."

"Sure, come in. I'm Ben." 

When Stiles steps inside, he's hit with the delicious aroma of Pad Thai noodles, making him realize how ravenous he is. Ben is searching his couch, saying that his phone should be there somewhere, when Stiles gets suspicious. Thai food? That's a pretty big coincidence, especially since the cartons on the counter are from the same restaurant his was before. But more than that, this guy smells like the Axe deodorant Stiles picked up on the food containers several times. Stiles' eyes have fallen to the reusable grocery bags he's entirely too accustomed to when Ben suddenly stops talking. Stiles looks up and Ben's eyes are round; he smells like fear even though he's trying real hard to pretend that everything is okay.

"I can't find the phone." His heartbeat skips; he's lying, and as Stiles tilts his head to the side, Ben's heart speeds up even more.

"No?"

"Sorry, man. Are you hurt? Because I've had a few beers so I can't drive right now," - not a lie - "so maybe, if you are okay, you could lie down and I could drive you into town tomorrow morning?"– lie.

Stiles shrugs and then runs towards Ben, pushing him into the wall. It turns out he moves lightning-fast when he puts his heart into it, just like the wolves. Ben yelps but stays immobile, and doesn't even protest that Stiles has lost his towel.

"I have another idea. Why don't you give me the phone?" Stiles says. As he talks, he checks Ben's back pocket, finding it. "Oh, there it is!"

"Oh."

Ben looks pretty harmless, but he's a threat if he contacts SD. Stiles can't see how he'd live with hurting or killing him, though; his conscience would rebel he's sure. On the other hand, Ben doesn't know that.

"Let's see. I will let you live, if you are good." 

Ben nods. "Yes, yes, just take the phone. Call for help, I won't say anything."

It's a start.

"Can you contact him?" Stiles asks.

"No. He'll come back tomorrow, that's all," Ben says. It's not a lie.

"Fine. But you'll give me some clothes and I'm getting a snack," Stiles declares, moving towards the bedroom, gesturing to Ben. The jeans are a bit too short, the shirt he chooses pretty cool and Stiles grabs a hoodie, because he feels like it. Flip-flops will have to do, since his feet are a several sizes bigger than Ben's.

"Why you?" Ben asks when Stiles moves to the kitchen and devours the cold pizza in the fridge. Even with all of his complaints to Joe the seagull, Stiles can't be assed to use the microwave to reheat it. Ben sounds genuinely curious. "Why is it that you are so special? Manetho took so many sparks, but you're the only one who lived, since I've been here." 

"How many?" Stiles asks. The transformation probably has a higher mortality rate than the werewolves’ bite.

"I don't know – a lot. Dozens." Ben doesn't seem to care, and Stiles wonders if his policy of not hurting him is sound. The guy is obviously a sociopath.

"I'm not special," Stiles says with a shrug, but then he grins. "Well, I wasn't before."

"Your friends sure want you back, though." Is that envy he can feel off Ben? For sure, Stiles' own heart beats faster.

"They've been here?"

Ben nods. "Again yesterday, but there's a spell that hid you, and I can't say anything useful if I'm asked. They had no idea you were so close. It seems to me that eyebrow-guy is losing his shit about it, too, so you might want to revise the 'I am no one special' thing." 

"For someone who can't talk, you sure are telling me a lot," Stiles remarks.

"You could have killed me – you won't kill me, right? – so…" Ben gestures to the phone on the counter. "Call, and I'll drive you to them."

Stiles laughs. "Are you nuts? I don't trust you. Even if you do have great taste in food." He's not going to call Scott where this guy can hear.

Stiles checks opened mail on the counter for the place's address. He learns he's in Abby's Bay, which is not _that_ far from home, he thinks, when he could have been transported anywhere on the coast. Several hours out nonetheless, though, and Stiles wonders how the others almost found him.

"Please take me?" Ben pleads. He does look anxious, wringing his hands. "Or drop me a town over? Manetho will be so pissed, I need to get out of here."

Stiles thinks about how this guy has known he was a prisoner for forty-six days and didn't lift a finger to help. How he helped kidnap and kill dozens of people, and snarls. "I don't think so. Go sit on that chair."

***

Stiles finds the keys to the SUV by the door and waves to a securely bound and gagged Ben before taking off. He drives two curves from the house, to be sure he's out of sight and out of earshot just to be sure, before he pulls over and calls Scott.

"'Lo?" It's sleepy and rough but Stiles has never been gladder to hear a familiar voice.

"Surprise!" Stiles says, unable to resist as Scott yawns loudly.

There's a bang and when Scott speaks next, he sounds completely awake. "Stiles? Stiles! Oh my God, where are you?"

Stiles laughs. "I'm in a stolen a car, near Abby's Bay. The real question is where are YOU?"

"Motel 6, on the Coast Highway in Richmond Creek. " Stiles hears a crash and Scott barely has time to say 'guess who' before Derek is on the line.

"Stiles?"

"Yep! That's me! I've done my daring escape and I'm looking for you guys!" 

"Go north, we're right at the edge of Richmond Creek. In fact, we're driving to you, we'll meet you on the way," Derek says, clipped and business-like. No concern about his well being, no 'I'm so glad you are okay', and this outcome is sorely lacking compared to the fantasies Stiles might have had for his liberation.

"How do you know..." Stiles hasn't even managed to determine if Richmond Creek is north or south of him, with no map. 

"Your heartbeat used to suddenly vanish just south of us. It's clearer now." 

"You can hear my heartbeat?" Stiles asks.

"We're leaving now." Derek summarily hangs up, to Stiles’ shock.

***

Soon enough, maybe ten miles north, there are headlights that Stiles is pretty sure are the Camaro. It's confirmed when the car pulls over and stops, followed by Allison's Plymouth. By the time Stiles parks beside them, Derek, Scott, Allison, Isaac, Erica and Boyd are already out and crowding his door. 

Stiles whoops as he gets out and gets an armful of Scott, plus pats on the back from the Betas. When he looks up to Derek, there's a mix of relief and confusion on his face, and he's visibly scrunching his nose, which should not look this adorable. Oh, right, Stiles must not smell completely human anymore.

"Want to guess what happened to me?" As soon as he asks, Stiles realizes he formulated that somewhat like a riddle, like sphinxes do, and promptly loses his shit, laughing in loud guffaws. It's slightly hysterical, to be honest, and now everyone is looking at him with concern.

"Man, are you okay?" Scott asks.

"Not exactly!" Stiles says between bouts of giggles, wiping his eyes. "Oh, whew, sorry about that. It's just that the night I got taken, I got clawed and…"

"What?" Derek finally speaks, eyes flashing red and looking pissed. 

Stiles rolls his eyes at unnecessarily-dramatic-Derek. Stiles thought he had missed him, but maybe not. Derek, yes; unnecessarily-dramatic-Derek, not so much.

"As I was saying…" Stiles starts again, but then he catches movement in the sky, coming fast towards them. Shit, here comes Manetho. "I'll explain later. Allison, get your crossbow. Running won't do us any good."

They all turn to look and Derek snarls and immediately starts to shift, echoed by growls from the Betas. If he wants to help, Stiles has to change, too, and he's already feeling the bones in his back moving to expand.

"Friends, let me show you my new party trick." Stiles starts to strip, since he'd like to have clothes if he's still alive to take human form later.

"What the fuck, Stiles?" Scott exclaims as Stiles puts the shirt and jeans away on top of the hoodie he liberated from Ben. 

Stiles fights the urge to cover his junk – this is so embarrassing - but he can't give a fuck about modesty right now. Manetho is closing in fast, bigger and bigger as he flies towards them. He's noticeably angry, which is visible even from where they are. 

"I might scream in pain, but it's normal, okay? I'm new at this." Stiles warns, before getting on all fours in the grass and then hunching in a ball. He can do this. 

It's easier to focus on protection when all of his friends are here, at his back, precious and fragile in spite of the fact that most of them are supernatural beings. Manetho will not get past him, will not hurt them, and for sure will not take him again. Stiles bites down hard, trying to contain the urge to scream in pain; oh Lord, it hurts. 

"Stiles!" someone cries out, though Stiles can't spare the attention to decipher who.

His second time shifting is faster, easier - but it's still agonizing and Stiles shouts as the skin on his back rips for the second time in hours, permitting the wings to unfold.

There are distressed whines at his back and Stiles shoots out a hand to warn the wolves away. "It's okay, oh sweet God, it hurts, but it's okay, I'll be fine in a minute, just…"

"Wings, Stiles, wings!" Scott shouts, disbelieving, and Stiles starts to laugh before a scream is ripped out of him again when his limbs shift, hands changing into paws followed by all of the associated furriness.

When done, Stiles pants: he finished shifting just in time because Manetho is there, hovering in the air several yards away. In his full sphinx form, fur and wings white all over and so frigging huge, he's terrifying.

"Very daring, Stiles." His voice carries and he sounds… proud?

"Hey, where there's a will, there's a way!" Stiles says.

It makes Manetho smile. "So much promise. Come with me, I will teach you everything there is to know. Come voluntarily and I will even let your friends live."

"No," Derek says, definitively. "You can't take him again, no way. He's ours!"

The possessiveness shouldn't be endearing, but it warms Stiles' heart (that's a little bit screwed up, but at least he knows it). "Hear that? I'm spoken for." 

"Then…" There's a whistling sound and suddenly a crossbow bolt is sticking out from Manetho's eye socket. He roars and when Allison shoots bolts to the base of the wings, Manetho falls to the ground.

"Neck and mouth!" Stiles shouts, hurrying towards Manetho. "Now!" They must not give him a chance to do magic. 

Stiles runs as fast as he can, and Derek keeps the pace right by his shoulders on all fours as they move in tandem; the thrill of the hunt stirs something primal in Stiles' new leonine instincts. Their only chance is to capitalize on the surprise element. Derek barrels right on, though as he jumps on Manetho he's deflected by a powerful sweep of his wing. Manetho is a mess, with crossbow bolts sticking out from his head and several from his back like a porcupine, but he's still dangerous, claws out and ready to shred anything that comes close enough. 

Stiles gets scratched, gouges opening on his side and hurting sharply, but then Manetho is distracted when Boyd leaps on his back while Isaac and Erica rip out feathers by the mouthful. Every instinct tells Stiles to go for the throat and he takes advantage of another small moment of distraction - courtesy of Scott and Derek - to slash his razor sharp claws right across Manetho's jugular. The neck is a very human part, in sphinx form, and as fragile as ever. The tear is severe, but Stiles continues to lash out until Manetho grips Stiles' front paw with a newly human hand and there's a shock like a lightning bolt, going straight to Stiles' head. It doesn't stop Stiles from delivering the killer blow. Manetho falls in a heap and the life is gone from his eyes. No more heartbeat, nothing. Stiles pants, exhilarated, though he knows he shouldn't take pleasure in killing.

It's Scott who talks first. "You're not cured."

Stiles blinks, finding it hard to focus when his head is still vibrating from the earlier shock. "Hadn't though of that." 

Technically, Manetho was his Alpha, the one who turned him. 

"Maybe it's different for werewolves?" Stiles asks, looking towards Derek.

"It's always been a legend, anyway," Derek says. He looks oddly relieved, and Stiles wonders how much guilt he's been carrying around from not letting Scott kill Peter. "Stiles…" Derek adds slowly. "Your eyes. They went from gold to black."

Oh, shit. Does that mean Stiles is now an alpha sphinx? It is probable; that must have been the succession he felt earlier. "Oh. I didn't need _that_ on top of my day, frankly."

There is nothing he can do about it, though. Stiles steps back, looks at his friends and is pleased because nobody seems seriously injured. The scratches on Stiles' side are closing neatly, too. They were so lucky to get Manetho by surprise like that. Allison runs to them, still holding her crossbow as if he could spring back to life.

"It's dead?" she asks.

"Definitely," Stiles says. There's no coming back from this carnage. The stretch of high grass where they fought isn't far from where the land falls into the ocean. "We should dump him over there," he indicates with a paw. 

Boyd nods and, with Erica and Isaac's help, drags Manetho towards it. "On it."

Good. Stiles has no intention of going near a cliff – or the ocean – anytime soon. The adrenaline is slowly wearing off and, now that the imperative to protect and guard is fading, Stiles feels like he's going to shift back soon. Experimentally, he stretches his wings as far as they'll go and takes a second to admire how bitching they are (he's already making plans to learn how to fly).

"I can't believe you have wings," Scott says, gaping a little. 

Stiles laughs. "Me neither."

Scott smiles, reaching to touch the tip of a feather: it's weird, but not unpleasant. "What the hell, man? You look like a Photoshop manip gone wrong!"

"Excuse you, wolf boy!" Stiles scoffs, raising a bloody paw and making his very pointy claw come out. "Careful what you say!"

"What was a Sphinx doing here?" Derek asks.

He knows what Stiles is! It probably shouldn't make him so happy. 

"I didn't even know that they were real. Or that they could turn people," Derek adds.

Stiles shrugs, which makes his wings flap a little. "No frigging idea. Over six weeks he barely told me anything. I think he was about to transfer his soul to my newly transformed body or some shit like that. I'm just lucky I escaped before it happened."

They're now walking towards the cars – Stiles still in sphinx form and the others human, which is a little weird - and Stiles feels the shift coming. Scott distracts him by holding a phone near his ear; it's ringing on the other end. 

"He knows everything," Scott says, but Stiles can't comment on that because the phone call is being picked up.

"Scott? What happened?" Stiles' dad says.

"Hey Dad! Sorry for waking you up in the middle of the night!" Stiles chirps, so happy to hear his voice.

"Stiles! Oh, thank God. Where are you? Are you okay?" 

"I'm fine, everything is fine, and no one is hurt. It's great!" Stiles reassures, because his dad sounds rattled. But happy, too.

"I'm glad. I am so glad. I was so worried, son."

"I know, I'm sorry. I'm fine, I swear. I have lots to tell you, can't wait to be home."

"We definitely need to have a talk," Dad says and Stiles winces. He should have expected that. "I love you, son. I'm so glad you're all right. Is Derek around?"

Stiles blinks, but Derek is making a grabby hand motion towards the telephone. Werewolves are the worst eavesdroppers ever. 

"Derek? Yes, but..." Before Stiles can wonder out loud why his dad wants to talk to Derek of all people, Scott gives him the phone.

"Sheriff? He's fine, and we got rid of the thing that took him," Derek says, walking briskly away to have some privacy. On a call with Stiles’ dad.

"What the hell?" Stiles exclaims.

Scott makes a face. "I know, right? They've become weirdly close. Derek's the one who told him about everything."

"They worked together a lot. Your dad searched with us for two weeks before he absolutely had to go back to work. There was some bonding over losing you and all, " Allison says, with a small smile. What is that supposed to mean?

"Hey! I was sad, too!" Scott protests. 

Allison pats Scott's arm. "Of course you were, honey."

Now that they are back to his clothes, Stiles is itchy. "I want to know all about how you missed me, but later. I've got to fold these in." He moves his wings. "Would you mind turning around, please?"

Erica, back from the cliff with the others, laughs at him. "You don't need to be shy now, Stiles. We've seen everything there is to see!"

Stiles manages to only shift a paw to give her the finger before he ducks behind the cars for privacy.

***

Stiles makes Allison stop at an IHOP as soon as one opens. Sure, it's because he's hungry as fuck - what else is new - but Scott and Isaac are going a bit overboard with the enthusiastic scent marking on his person in the back seat, and have been ever since they got into the cars to drive toward Beacon Hills. Stiles spoke to his dad again, arranged for the local cops to take Ben in, at least to scare the guy while they put him in the system, if he's not there already. Stiles would soon find Ben again and personally interrogate him to learn more about the other kidnapped sparks and Manetho, but it can wait. Now he just needs to go home.

Escaping Scott the affectionate octopus is easier said than done, but once out of the car, Stiles gives him a mission.

"Man, you know what I like, right? Order me one of everything, I'll be right in."

Scott brightens up. "French toast, chocolate AND blueberry pancakes?"

On cue, Stiles' stomach grows loudly. "Hell yeah. Get me a Big Steak Omelette and a mountain of bacon, too. Please?"

"Sure thing!" Scott says, bounding towards the restaurant with the others. 

Stiles catches Derek's sleeve as he passes by. "Hey, just a sec. I need to talk to you."

With his new and improved senses, Stiles hears Derek's heart speed up a little.

"What is it?" Derek asks, sounding annoyed. 

The others are all in the restaurant now, and even though it's probable they can still hear their conversation if they try, it's the most private Stiles can make this. 

"Thanks for looking for me," Stiles says.

Derek's eyebrows go up, surprised. He was expecting something else. "Of course we did." The 'duh' is implied.

"I knew you would. But I was gone a long time."

"I would never have stopped," Derek says, but he's avoiding Stiles' eyes now, looking over his shoulder. It's Stiles' heart that speeds up at that, and they both know it. 

"Oh." This is a lot closer to Stiles’ fantasy reunions. Could it be that his feelings are returned? "You could track me all the way from Beacon Hills? Except for the magic disorientation bubble around my cave?"

Derek still doesn't look at Stiles but he nods. "Yeah."

Stiles can smell fear now, and there's a bit of it in the air. 

"Is it an Alpha thing?" He asks.

"Not really," Derek admits. "But it doesn't have to be a big deal."

Oh, but it definitely does, Stiles thinks, if the deal is that Derek likes him enough to have a personal Stiles connection. 

"Do you know what I had time to do, alone in that cave?" Stiles asks. The change of subject works and Derek catches his eyes again. "I had time to think." 

"Really?" Derek says with a tiny smirk, relaxing at last. "I'm shocked."

"I know, right?" Stiles kids, playing along. "I looked at my life, at my choices, and found fucking tons of shit I should have done differently. That I would do or not do if I could start over."

Just like that, Derek's face falls. Of course, being the martyr that he is, he draws the wrong conclusion and is expecting Stiles to say he doesn't want to have anything to do with the pack anymore. It's hard for Stiles not to roll his eyes: as if he could ever stay away, especially now.

"I told myself that if I came out of this alive, I'd do things. I have a list."

"A list," Derek repeats, a bit confused.

Stiles nods. "A list. And now that I have fast healing, number one seems even more doable and less dangerous for my heath. In case it goes wrong."

Derek is downright frowning now, completely lost. "What is it? How is it dangerous?"

"Let me show you," Stiles says, heart hammering in his chest as he steps forward until they are chest to chest, then puts his hand on Derek's neck to pull him into a kiss. 

Time is suspended for a second as Derek stays stock still, unresponsive, but then he kisses back, bringing his own hands up to frame Stiles’ face. The joy and relief at that is so sharp that Stiles ruins the kiss by grinning, unable to stop himself. Derek huffs, but he's smiling wide, too, ruining the effect. They must look ridiculous clutching at each other like this in the middle of an IHOP parking lot, with stupid smiles on their faces.

"You little shit. I thought you were talking about bungee jumping or something," Derek says.

Stiles shrugs. "Pretty much the same, in fact. Throwing myself off a secure place, metaphorically speaking and all that." 

"Does being a sphinx make you use multisyllabic words every other sentence, now? Because it's going to get annoying fast." Derek says, though he contradicts his bickering by pulling Stiles flush to him and kissing him again, deep and hot. 

"Maybe," Stiles says when they break for air, a long while later. His hands are fisted in Derek's shirt and he never wants to let go. "You'll have to think of creative ways to shut me up," he adds with an eyebrow waggle.

Derek laughs, which is something Stiles will have to make happen as much as possible. He drags the back of his fingers down the side of Stile's face before thumbing his lower lip.

"I have an idea or two," he says, voice sexy rough. 

Oh hell yes! Stiles takes a second to celebrate internally, but the moment is suddenly shattered.

"Pancakes work to shut him up! They work really well!" It's Scott, half out the restaurant's door and making a horrified oh-my-God-TMI face.

Both Derek and Stiles laugh at him. Scott still looks perturbed, though he's embarrassed too, now.

"True," Stiles admits, and he kisses Derek again just because – okay, because it's great, but also to mess with Scott - before taking his hand. He really hopes Derek is okay with that. "Let's go."

"Fine," Derek says, interlacing their fingers. Stiles grins wide and he'd skip, too, but it would mess with the image of wisdom he should try to maintain now, being a sphinx and all. That and Derek would probably refuse any more PDA, ever.

He swings their hands a little, just to be a brat, but Derek only rolls his eyes minimally with a fond smile, so it must be okay. 

Stiles finally escaped, got rid of the monster, is going home with his friends, won over the hot guy… and there's bacon in his immediate future. Life is good.

He feels like he already knows how to fly.

**Author's Note:**

> As a FYI, the title is shamelessly borrowed from the song ["Learning to Fly"](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aaw25N8yxNY) by Pink Floyd
> 
> **"Learning to Fly"**
> 
> [...]
> 
> A soul in tension, that's learning to fly   
> Condition grounded but determined to try   
> Can't keep my eyes from the circling skies   
> Tongue-tied and twisted just an earthbound misfit 
> 
> [...]
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
